


Where The Land Ends And Sea Begins

by opemjamjar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Self-Indulgent, Sleepwalking, Yuuri will always bring Viktor home, very light though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 08:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opemjamjar/pseuds/opemjamjar
Summary: Medals of gold gave him no hope when the nothingness made it hard to breathe. He had given all he had to give. Viktor Nikiforov had became art and legend both, weaving himself into the fabric of history. But over the years, he found himself unravelling, slowly but surely.Stress has ways of manifesting long term. Viktor, after decades of dedicating his all to a high pressure world (even if it was one he loved) finds himself sleepwalking in the dead of night, reliving the highlights of the days that were his loneliest. Thankfully, these days he’s got family looking out for him.





	Where The Land Ends And Sea Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings humans. My first YOI fic. I am grateful to the wonderful writers and artists in this fandom who inspired me enough to finally begin creating my own works for this fandom too. I wrote this at the end of last summer and finally got round to editing and posting it. And I made a drawing to go along with it. Consider this a toast to a happy beginning.

Nights like these frightened Viktor. Nights where he would find himself standing with shoeless feet half sunk in sand at the seashore. A characteristic ache blossomed in his chest, the loneliness a home in the cavity inside of himself. How had he gotten here again?

He turned his eyes away from the ocean that seemed to stretch onto infinity and looked back. Indeed, a very neat trail of barely visible footsteps led up to where the edge of the water’s reach had erased it in deft strokes. Viktor tried to probe his brain further, but in vain. It felt like an incessant fog had lodged itself inside his head.

Viktor frowned, returning his gaze towards the ocean. It was overcast and Viktor was standing in near-complete darkness. It was hard to tell where sea ended and sky began, all a murky blend of black and indigo in the night. Only the ever moving water broke what would have otherwise been silence in such an ungodly hour. Viktor had an inkling as to what hour it was but could not know for sure. A habitual glance at his wrist revealed to him he had no watch on.

He lowered his eyes and watched the seafoam eddy around his calves and ankles. The saltwater laved at his feet in a relentless, rhythmic fashion. He allowed himself to be distracted shortly. 

He eventually closed his eyes though, and tried to remember. Movement and light began swimming at the edge of his memory. Harsh lights glinting off of ice. Whether it was the memory of ice or the seawinds blowing his way that made him shiver, he could not tell. The roar of an imaginary crowd and the roar of the ocean became one. Suddenly, Viktor was standing in the centre of it all. The quiet eye in a storm of people he could not see too well past the glaring lights.

A disjointed sequence of images played in his mind, accompanied by some vague melody he thought he was supposed to remember. He was gliding, arms open in a grand gesture. Another trail to look back on, this time made by the blades of his skates so sharp. He was turning mid-air, arms close to his chest, feeling like he was going to fall. As though the precarious ice would suddenly give beneath his landing, emptiness swallowing him whole, crushing him from the outside in like the vacuum of space.

Medals of gold gave him no hope when the nothingness made it hard to breathe. He had given all he had to give. Viktor Nikiforov had became art and legend both, weaving himself into the fabric of history. But over the years, he found himself unravelling, slowly but surely.

And oh so suddenly, blurred faces rushed past his mind’s eye. They were too numerous to register, nothing to latch on to. It started to feel dizzying. Was he still standing? One face stilled before him, forcing its way into some semblance of clarity almost violently, urgently. Dark brown eyes locked with his and would not seem to let go. Sable hair rested atop the head that was tilted up to look at him. Sable hair that was sometimes slicked back smoothly, shining in those same harsh lights that haloed the man before him in his mind.

A gloved hand reached out to touch his face and Viktor startled badly. The fingers were warm and he thought he could hear a familiar voice speaking to him.

‘....Viktor? Hey, are you with me?’ said the voice, distressed. Viktor’s heart lurched. And then there were hands on his shoulders. ‘Hey, Viktor, talk to me-’

‘Yuuri,’ Viktor breathed out and suddenly he was back at the beach. He found himself looking into brown eyes whose infinity rivalled that of the ocean. Yuuri sighed in relief.

Something pressed at his legs and Viktor nearly startled a second time before looking down at the old poodle that was whimpering and head-butting at him. Yuuri’s warm hands gently, gingerly, settled themselves on Viktor’s face and turned his head to be looking back into Yuuri's eyes.

‘Are you with me?’ Yuuri said.

Viktor nodded slowly. Another sigh of relief.

‘Are you still afraid?’

Viktor considered this for a moment. ‘Now that you’re here, no.’ A pause. ‘Yuuri, I’m so sorry I don’t remember how I-’

‘It’s okay,’ Yuuri said. ‘You were sleepwalking again. Makka and I were worried about you.’

At this, Makkachin let out a soft boof and looked up at them both with wide eyes.

‘I’m sorry for worrying you.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

Viktor opened his mouth as though to say something. He never knew where to begin. He frowned and closed his eyes again, relief and love trickling into the hollowed out space in his chest.

‘You don’t have to deal with this, over and over again-’ Viktor found his voice trembling.

‘Viktor.’ Viktor opened his eyes. Yuuri was smiling at him, eyes kind, face just visible in the dark.

‘I promised I would stay by your side.’

‘You did.’

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course. I just. Feel-’

‘Guilty?’ Viktor said nothing.

‘You’re not a burden. Remember how you’d told me to stop saying sorry and instead say-’

‘Thank you?’

‘You’re welcome,’ Yuuri said, and patted Viktor’s cheek lightly. ‘Let’s go home.’

Makkachin perked up at the word ‘home’ and let out a bark proper this time, tongue lolling. She began wagging her tail, disturbing the wet sand. Viktor felt stinging behind his eyes, a pressure constricting his throat. Yuuri leaned in and pecked him on the top of his lips. It was light but comforting. And then Yuuri’s fingers entwined in his and he was led away from the water, Makkachin bounding ahead of them, her energy a contrast to Viktor and Yuuri’s slower amble through the sand. Viktor spared a glance at the sky above. The clouds had cleared. A moonless night glittered with stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read and I hope you enjoyed it. If you spot any typos, please let me know.


End file.
